


Time Honoured Tradition

by jugandbettsdetectiveagency



Series: halloween prompts [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Ghosts, Halloween Tumblr Prompt, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 12:11:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugandbettsdetectiveagency/pseuds/jugandbettsdetectiveagency
Summary: When Cheryl dares Betty to spend some time in the abandoned house across the street she gets a little more than she bargained for.





	Time Honoured Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this isn’t as developed as I wanted because this was supposed to be a short one shot but I seem to have forgotten how to do those so… I guess you can use your imaginations. It’s not exactly in keeping with the prompt I got *because* I was trying to keep it short, but then it got away from me just like this explanation is and I’m rambling, yeah, have this half-assed fic.

“My turn,” Cheryl piped up, a sly grin planting itself firmly across her lips as she let go of Dilton Doiley’s sweater, allowing him to fall back in a post-make out daze, wiping at the corners of her mouth to remove any lipstick smudges. Somehow she seemed to be the only woman alive that managed to keep her makeup intact despite a multitude of spit swapping. Betty often wondered if the cherry red stain wasn’t lipstick at all, but that the colour just naturally deepened every time Cheryl managed to slay one of her enemies.

“Betty.” She jumped at the clipped sound of her name. Cheryl’s pupils had turned a menacingly dark shade as she focused her attention on her next victim. “Truth or dare?”

She hadn’t wanted to play this game. In fact, the only reason she was even at the Blossom’s Halloween bash in the first place was because Archie had looked at her with that liquid chocolate, puppy dog expression of his and practically begged her to come with him; she had melted just like his eyes. Betty cursed her inability to deny Archie Andrews anything as she watched him sliding closer to her best friend, Veronica Lodge, by the second. She bit the inside of her cheek as the corners of her eyes began to sting.

“Aren’t we a little too old for truth or dare?” she had protested weakly when Cheryl suggested the game earlier in the evening, noting the way the redhead kept flicking her gaze between the three of them, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes. Betty could just picture how this was going to go.

_“Betty, tell the truth. Are you in love with Archie?”_

_“Archie, I dare you to make out with Veronica.”_

Whatever schemes Cheryl was currently plotting, Betty didn’t want any part of it. She’d been outvoted, nevertheless.

“It’s a time honoured tradition, Betty,” Cheryl stated evenly as she sat down on the crimson upholstered chaise lounge. The way she moved, with such grace and precision, never moving a muscle that need not be moved, only served to further cement Betty’s suspicions that she was actually the living dead.

“Yeah, B, come on! It’ll be fun,” Veronica insisted, barely having finished her sentence before she was glancing over adoringly at Archie, who’d come up behind her baring a red solo cup and a winning smile, guiding her to sit with a warm hand on her lower back.

“Betty, we’re waiting,” Cheryl demanded impatiently, snapping her out of her daze. All eyes were on her as she glanced nervously around the circle, like a cornered animal searching for a way out. Well, if she had to go with the least horrible option she’d pick…

“Dare,” Betty squeaked, clearing her throat a little. The joy in Cheryl’s expression faltered only for a minute before she rallied, glancing around the room for something to torture her with. In fact, she wouldn’t put it past the Blossom mansion to have some kind of secret torture chamber hidden away in its depths…

“Fine,” Cheryl sighed, “I dare you to…” She paused, her eyes looked on something just outside the window over Betty’s shoulder, corners of her mouth turning up in a devilish smirk. “I dare you to spend ten minutes in the abandoned Jones Mansion across the street,” she finished smugly.

Betty cringed, letting her eyes slide closed slowly in defeat as a hum of excitement filled the air. She’d been so focused on her prays that Bluebeard’s chamber wasn’t an additional feature to the gothic horror show that was Thornhill, that she’d completely forgotten that the Blossom’s home came complete with its own creepy, abandoned house just a few feet away.

“That place is totally haunted, dude,” Reggie announced with glee, practically bouncing in his seat. He didn’t notice the withering look Betty shot his way. “One time me and Jase kicked our football over there when we were kids and when we went over to get it I _swear_ we saw someone moving about through one of the blown out windows,” he said solemnly, eyes wide.

“You’re freaking her out!” Jason chastised, throwing a concerned glance towards a rapidly paling Betty. Her fingers began a familiar twitch inwards towards the meat of her palms, hovering just above the surface of the delicate skin.

“You don’t have to do it, B,” Veronica consoled, resting a hand on her forearm in what she imagined what supposed to be a comforting gesture.

“Um, yes she does. She picked dare, she has to do the deed – those are the rules,” Cheryl cut in haughtily.

“Betty, you don’t have to if you’re not up to it,” Archie spoke over her, voice laced with pity.

 _That was it_. _She was done being babied._

“I’ll do it!” she burst out, instantly blushing at the sound of her unexpectedly loud voice echoing through the high ceilings. “It’s not a big deal, guys, it’s just a house,” Betty murmured quietly, unable to deny the slight tremor in her voice to even herself.

“Excellent!” Cheryl beamed, rising from her seat like Carmilla from her coffin. “Shall we?” she asked, motioning towards the door.

The group piled out, both tripping over each other with eagerness and reserve as they tried to get closer but not be the one closest to the house that haunted all of their childhood ghost stories.

The Jones mansion had sat, decrepit and decaying, for as long as any of them had known. None of them really knew who had truly lived there, only that the Jones family had been one of the founding families of the town of Riverdale, and that there were many stories surrounding their demise, spanning from debauchery to insanity. Either way, there were very few people willing to venture inside the old house that sat untouched at the other end of the Blossom’s driveway.

“Oh, and would you look at that,” Cheryl said coyly, holding up her phone that they were using as a flashlight to pick their way across the overgrown yard. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Ooh, the witching hour,” Reggie giggled, rubbing his hands together. A muffled ‘oomph’ rang out after Veronica elbowed him in the stomach, her usually highly arched eyebrows drawn low over her eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, turning her worried gaze to Betty, searching her face for signs of hesitation. “I mean, we literally just walked past so many signs saying to keep out. No one has been inside here since before Gabrielle Chanel started going by ‘Coco’. It’s just _waiting_ to fall down,” she shivered, wrapping her Red Riding Hood’s cloak tightly around her exposed arms as the fall wind picked up ominously around them.

Betty ran a hand down the cheap costume satin of her Marie Antoinette outfit, suddenly feeling like the thin, red ribbon choker tied around her neck (her attempt at backhanded humour) was too tight, watching as she leaned back into Archie’s embrace while he rubbed some warmth into her skin. _Maybe she should have worn something a little more risqué_ , Betty thought dejectedly, glimpsing the exposed thigh between Veronica’s short skirt and knee socks. Steeling her shoulders, she turned away from the group.

“It’s just a house,” she repeated, more to herself than her friends. Really, it was. “I’ll be in and out,” she reassured, flicking an unsteady smile over her shoulder.

“Ten minutes,” Cheryl reminded her, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“Yeah, I got it,” Betty bit out. The shadow of the house loomed before her as she sucked in one last deep breath, the full moon just emerging from behind dark wisps of late night clouds while she reached out and grasped the handle, pushing open the rotted wooden door with a creak.

Something dark and fast scuttled along the edge of what Betty assumed used to be the grand foyer, and she swallowed the bubble of a scream that threatened to burst free, well aware that she was still within earshot of the teens waiting for her re-emergence with anticipation. The door swung shut with a solid _bang_ causing her to flinch in surprise, hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. Betty conjured the page of the text book she’d read in her mind that explained why this reaction happened – something about the fight or flight response triggered by the rush of adrenaline in a fearful situation causing goose bumps, thus tightening the hair follicles and making the hairs stand on end. If she thought about that she didn’t have enough energy left to consider what might be casting the strange looking shadow on the wall to her left, while making her way towards the heart of the house.

A small yelp escaped her as a flurry of wings erupted above her head, coupled with the sharp _snap_ of the bannister giving way under her sudden weight against it. Betty stumbled back, managing to keep herself upright just in time to watch an ornately carved section of the staircase creak and crash to the floor.

“Betty?” she heard Archie’s voice call out in concern. Her hand was on her chest, feeling the erratic thud of her heart beneath her palm.

“I’m fine!” she yelled back as loud as she dared. She couldn’t help but be overcome with the uneasy feeling that she was disturbing something here.

She reached the second story landing, eyes darting about in search of god knows what; she was sure she was just hoping not to see anything at all. It was clear by the mouldings this house was once a lavish structure, the height of upper-class society, now reduced to rot and rubble.

A soft laugh drifted by her ear and Betty whipped round, breath caught in her throat as her palms began to sweat. She was sure she’d heard it – it was so clear. A light breeze trailed its fingers over her shoulders, rustling her skirts as they went, carrying with it the distant sound of violins, glasses clinking, footsteps thudding. Betty spun around in continuous circles, head all of a suddenly becoming dizzy, as the noises overwhelmed her senses.

“Liza!” The voice was coated in sheer panic, growing in volume with each passing second. “Liza, my love, where are you?!” Betty turned, the air getting knocked out of her as she took in the sight that met her. A man was heading straight for her, his dark curls dishevelled, haunted eyes round with fear, his feet not touching the ground as he ran. Betty watched the moon disappear into the clouds, once more, out of the window behind his head, the flood of light pouring right through his sheer features.

It didn’t make sense, there was nothing here, there was nothing… She thundered down the hallway, the house’s foundations moaning underneath her, awakening from decade’s old slumber with each pound of her boots. The chime of a clock striking midnight reverberated through her skull and Betty cried out, falling back against a door that gave way beneath her.

She landed with a soft thud on a plush, paisley rug, the ringing in her ears abruptly ceasing. Her chest shuddered with each fear-filled breath, her eyes clenched tightly, too afraid to open them.

“What are you doing?” She knew that voice. _He wasn’t real, he wasn’t real, he wasn’t real…_

The warm weight of a cautious hand on her shoulder was very real.

Betty’s eyes flew open with a gasp. Her vision with filled with a lake of quivering blue, peering out from behind a simple, black mask, those curls partly obstructing the view. “Are you alright…”

“Liza?” Betty whispered, still coming down from whatever trip she’d just taken.

“Liza, are you alright?” he asked again, mistaking her questioning tone.

“No, that’s not…” she trailed off, lifting a shaking hand to her throbbing forehead, pinching her brows to try and quell the pain. She met his eyes again. Why was she trying to explain herself to a ghost? He wasn’t real anyway, none of this was. “Yeah, I think so,” she mumbled instead, finding herself flushing as he swiped a gentle thumb over her cheek.

“Then I’ll ask again, what are you doing?” he smirked, clearly trying to hide his laughter. Betty looked down at her sprawled out position on the carpet, her blush intensifying as she scrabbled to stand, his hand supporting under her elbow.

“I… tripped,” she supplied lamely, unable to meet his piercing eyes.

“Came here for some peace?” he guessed, raising a dark brow. “Me too. I’m not adept at dealing with the types that come to these kind of things. My father insists upon my attendance unfortunately,” he lamented, raking a hand through his hair in exasperation.

Betty watched him intently, waiting for him to disappear before her eyes. The man cleared his throat, straightening slightly. “My manners, forgive me. I’m Jughead Jones.”

“Jones?” she repeated, unable to keep the tone of incredulity from her voice.

“Yes,” Jughead replied, narrowing his eyes. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” he asked slowly, reaching up as if to cup her cheek before aborting the movement. “How can you be at a ball without knowing the host?” That secret smile was once again playing about his lips.

Betty pulled her lower lip between her teeth, feeling warm all over. She peeked up at the dream man from beneath her lashes, hoping her silence would appease him. It took her a moment to take in her surroundings, having been so focused on Jughead. The room was filled with a soft, yellow candlelight from the lanterns scattered about. The carpets were clean and untorn, the wood freshly varnished, and the walls filled with shelves upon shelves of neatly filed books.

It wasn’t possible, but somehow she just knew… This was the same house she’d stepped foot into, but it wasn’t the same time. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room read just gone eleven.

“I should re-join the party before my mother sends out a search party. Would you… care to join me, Liza?” Jughead asked, a hint of bashfulness creeping into his request. Betty smiled, looping her hand through his crooked elbow.

“Wait, I don’t have a mask,” she fretted as they reached the top of the staircase. She glanced quickly towards the chunk that had given way beneath her body just moments before, finding it securely in place and perfectly polished.

“Here,” Jughead said, reaching for one of the decorative ones on the cabinet behind them. She stood as still as possible while he tied it in place, his fingertips brushing along the slope of her neck, raising goose bumps for the second time that night.

“Thank you.”

The sounds that filled the air were once again familiar as they descended into the ball below. Clinking glasses, cheerful chatter, the soothing lull of violins playing. Betty was in awe as she took it all in, still not quite sure this wasn’t a dream and her lifeless body was lying somewhere beneath collapsed shingles back in the broken version of this house. But, then again, she didn’t have as much stock in her imagination to believe that she could have made up something this beautiful. And the weight of Jughead’s hand on the small of her back felt so impossibly real.

“Forsythe, dear! Ethel’s saved you this dance!” A high-pitched voice called over the noise and Jughead groaned, ducking his head while simultaneously quickening their pace so they became lost in the crowd.

“Forsythe?” Betty giggled – her imagination definitely didn’t make _that_ up. He shot her a disdainful glare as he peered over her shoulder nervously.

“Yet another family curse,” he murmured distractedly, turning back to her once he was seemingly satisfied that they’d evaded whoever was trying to accost him. “I didn’t get your last name,” he said with an adorable tilt of his head.

“Cooper,” Betty replied, regretting her response as soon as she saw the colour drain from his face. “What?” she asked, apprehension causing her skin to tingle.

“You’re a _Cooper_?” The way he emphasised her name suddenly made her feel as if it were the worst thing to be right now. “What in the hell are you doing here?! _How_ – Do they know you’re here? Jesus, I hope my parents don’t…” Betty couldn’t help but be transfixed by the way he rolled his lower lip through his teeth in frustration, the colour flooding back in when he let it go with a barely audible _pop_.

“No, I– I’m just here,” she stammered, because it was the truth. Jughead blew an exasperated breath out of his nostrils, appraising her with caution. Eventually he sighed, shaking his head as a small chuckle fell from his lips. The sound was deep and throaty, and not entirely displeasing to the ear.

“Well, I have to admit you’re braver than I. I like it,” he grinned and Betty felt herself preening a little at the compliment. Jughead’s gaze was drawn to something over her shoulder again, smile vanishing. “Shit. Um… Liza, will you do me the honour of letting me have this dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. Betty took it before she could think. _Liza was definitely braver._

“Who are you avoiding?” Betty questioned as they began to glide across the dancefloor. She wasn’t wholly sure what she was doing (she’d only taken ballet for a few years before her mother told her she was too big boned to continue with any amount of grace), but she found that if she didn’t focus too much on her feet it wasn’t so hard.

“My mother. She’s been trying to match me with every eligible woman here,” he grumbled, a look of genuine pain crossing his face. Betty pressed her lips together to avoid laughing at him.

“Sounds terrible,” she murmured with teasing sympathy.

“It is!” he insisted, flexing his fingers against the small of her waist. “Everyone here is intolerable. I think,” he added as an afterthought, his eyes swimming again. Betty, not for the first time, began to feel lightheaded.

She lost herself in the dance, in the feeling of his body pressed against hers. She forgot that this was a dream, or that it was impossible, or that she was probably bleeding out somewhere with no one around. She hoped her friends would find her before any permanent damage was done. Instead, she chose to focus on the way Jughead looked at her with a fire she’d only ever dreamed of being on the receiving end of before. Well, it made sense…

“Why did you come here, Liza?” Jughead asked some time later, as their second dance of the evening was drawing to a close. “It could end so badly, our families despise each other,” he whispered. Betty shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was fate,” she quipped jokingly. When he didn’t reply she looked up to find him pulling his mask off. He really was beautiful. All strong lines and soft-looking lips. Something in the back of her mind reminded her that dreams had no consequences.

“Fate rarely works in my favour,” he muttered, cupping the back of her neck. Betty’s tongue came out to wet her lips in anticipation, seconds before they were pressed against his.

In the darkened corner of the room his mouth moved against hers slowly, steadily, working up a rhythm that sucked all of the oxygen from Betty’s lungs. He groaned quietly when she let out a small whimper at the way his tongue ran over the inside of her lower lip. Jughead pulled back, resting his forehead against hers when the chime of the clock bellowed, trying to regain their breaths.

“Come with me,” he whispered, pulling her from her place against the wall. Betty followed willingly, weaving through the crowd while a storm of butterflies tried to escape the confines of her stomach.

She tripped through the door at the back of the ballroom, the weight of Jughead’s hand disappearing, the cold wind winding its way into her bones.

“Jughead?” she whispered into the night, tears ridiculously pooling along her waterline. The decomposing floorboards once against creaked beneath her feet.

“Betty! Oh my, god, Betty! We’ve been calling you for ages; we heard a crash and thought something awful had happened,” Veronica sighed, pulling her in for a brief, but tight, hug.

“Something awful did,” Betty whispered, too low to be heard.

“Look what we found though,” Archie cut in excitedly, thrusting a weathered piece of paper into her hand. Betty felt the ground fall away from beneath her feet as she stared down at the figures in the picture. “She looks so much like you, maybe you’re related, isn’t that awesome?” Archie guessed with a shrug.

Betty knew they were more than just related. The woman in the picture stood next to Jughead Jones, bouquet in hand, swathed in the delicate lace of a wedding dress. Around her neck was a thin line of ribbon, tied in exactly the same way as hers was now.

She was reeling. She knew this was her, she knew it must have been real. But now, more than anything, she knew that she must make it back to him.


End file.
